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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27556648">like smoke reversed (i transform from thin air into burning thing)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/aeviternal/pseuds/amells'>amells (aeviternal)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>as if i had a string somewhere under my left ribs [8]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Wayhaven Chronicles (Interactive Fiction)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M, Fluff, Huddling For Warmth, Mutual Pining, Pre-Relationship, Sharing a Bed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 18:53:26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,337</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27556648</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/aeviternal/pseuds/amells</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Adam has not shared a bed with another in— in decades. Centuries, perhaps. He had not considered, however, that doing so with the detective would be so very different.</p><p>He— well, he is coming to understand that perhaps he is not in the business of considering all that much, these days.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Detective/Adam du Mortain, Female Detective/Adam du Mortain</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>as if i had a string somewhere under my left ribs [8]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1917049</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>73</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>like smoke reversed (i transform from thin air into burning thing)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>prompt: <em>concept: Adam and June spending a night or two at an Agency safehouse somewhere far from Wayhaven (maybe June's apartment got attacked by Trappers or something, and the local Agency facility is obviously compromised, so Adam "I'm Definitely Not Overprotective" du Mortain takes June on a safehouse-hopping road trip? idk) except this latest safehouse is kinda shit so there's Only One Bed™ and oh no they're snowed in without central heating and now they must Snuggle For Warmth™ (...this is really specific lmao, i got a bit carried away)</em></p><p><strong>tl;dr:</strong> it's the obligatory bed-sharing fic yall</p><p>i have no idea when this is supposed to be set but we're going with it</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“No.”</p><p>“Adam—”</p><p>“No.”</p><p>“Don’t <em> ‘no’ </em> me, asshole, it’s a good idea—”</p><p>“No, I think you will find it is <em> not.” </em></p><p>The detective grumbles, folding her arms across her chest. Like this, her shivering is somehow <em>yet more </em>pronounced, shoulders jumping almost comically around her ears.</p><p>They have been having this argument for almost ten minutes. In that time, her teeth have begun to chatter, and her breath continues to steam in front of her lips, caught by the low light of the candles Adam had procured from the bathroom.</p><p>“This is getting us nowhere. The simple fact is that you need the rest far more than I ever could.”</p><p>Detective Lovelace huffs out a laugh, narrowing her eyes and shifting from foot to foot. “Yeah, buddy, <em> totally. </em> Because you <em>definitely </em>didn’t get hit with DMB on our way out, did you? No, never. And you <em> didn’t </em> almost pass out in the car, either, nah, that’d be just <em> silly.” </em></p><p>Despite himself, Adam scowls. He had been unaware of her noticing that.</p><p>“Whatever I did or did not do hardly matters; as you can see, I am perfectly fine.”</p><p>He straightens in demonstration, ignoring — just barely — the way it dislodges a twinge from his lungs and an ache in his bones. </p><p>Adam ill-remembers human sickness, but he thinks this roughly lines up with its sensation; sensitivity, fatigue, the full-body ache as though he’d been starving for months. There was a time, centuries ago, when he had not been able to feed <em>once </em>during a voyage overseas. The pain— yes, it is similar.</p><p>“Fine?” The detective pulls a face, made almost ghoulish by the flickering light, then reaches out to poke his shoulder.</p><p>He is not so weak nor so diminished that he yields under her touch, but the wince— it is impossible to smother. </p><p>Victory flashes in the detective’s dark eyes, which widen knowingly as her brows arch above them.</p><p>“You’re <em> fine, </em> huh?”</p><p>“Yes.” Adam clenches his jaw; their eyes clash. “And my point stands. You require the use of the bed far more than I do.”</p><p>Because that, of course, is the crux of the problem: this had been the nearest safehouse to Wayhaven that Adam was aware of, but its proximity to the Facility — and to the Warehouse, now — necessitates its small size. </p><p>By this he means: there is only one room, beyond the bathroom and the kitchen.</p><p>By this he means: there is, therefore, only one bed.</p><p>“I <em> super duper </em>do not, man, seriously. I mean, have you <em>met </em>me? I sleep, like, <em> twice </em>a year at most, and my blood is <em> basically </em>more coffee than anything else, by this point. And adderall, I guess. And anyway, if I <em> did </em>need to sleep— I could totally fit in the bathtub, right? <em> You </em> won’t, because you’re fucking <em> Godzilla.” </em></p><p>Adam exhales very carefully, focusing on remaining upright. “I do not understand that reference.”</p><p>“You— seriously?” </p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>Detective Lovelace sighs as though he had mortally wounded her, a look of such profound despair on her face that he is almost convinced he <em>had. </em> </p><p>“Dude, that is— that is just the <em>saddest </em>thing I have ever heard. Like, I’m worried about you. How do you just <em> go through life </em> not knowing this shit?”</p><p>She says this last with such passion that an ever-more opaque plume of steam rises from her lips, peeling one shaking arm away from her torso to gesture dramatically. Then:</p><p><em> “Jesus, </em> we are <em>so </em>having a movie night when this is all over. I’m making a list. See, that’s what we’ll do! You’ll go to sleep, <em> I’ll </em> write up a list in my notes app, we’re good.”</p><p>By God, he has never met a more frustrating person — human or otherwise — in all his life. He cannot decide if he wants to laugh with her or throttle her.</p><p>He does neither, of course.</p><p>Instead, he pinches the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, uncertain as to whether his growing headache is from the events of the night or the detective’s stubbornness. </p><p>“This conversation is irrelevant,” he finally exhales, attempting to blink away the pain behind his eyes. “There is one bed. I am a vampire, and therefore do not require rest. <em> You </em>are a human, and very much do. You will sleep in it. That is all.”</p><p>“Okay, that is very much <em>not </em>all. You think I don’t know what you look like when you’re hurt, Adam? I’m not stupid. No.” This time, it is she who straightens. “You’re <em> getting </em> in that bed, I don’t care if I have to knock you out to get you there.”</p><p>Adam cocks a brow. Detective June Lovelace is five-foot-three and looks as though she might weigh forty pounds soaking wet. The shivering hardly helps lend her an intimidating air, either. Such a scenario is— unlikely, to say the least.</p><p>The look on his face must convey as much, because she grumbles, withdrawing her arm at last and wrapping it around herself with a sullen moue. “When you’re like this, I would <em> totally </em> have a shot, shut up.”</p><p>Despite himself, he feels his lips jerk. This is <em>unforgivable, </em> so he shakes his head, only — given the state of things — this is <em>also </em>unforgivable, and he almost loses his balance.</p><p>The detective heaves a sigh, watching him collect himself as though the display physically pained her. </p><p>“Well. If you’re not getting in that bed, and <em> I’m </em> not getting in that bed, who’s driving the car?”</p><p>Adam grunts, half-hearted. “You drove us here. I suppose the next lot must fall to me.”</p><p>At that, she snorts, shaking her head and meeting his eyes. The fondness that he finds there— well, it would be enough to undo a lesser man, perhaps. But Adam is not a lesser man.</p><p>Though perhaps the DMB is more potent than he had realised, because it is suddenly slightly harder to breathe.</p><p>“Are you sure that you won’t rest just a <em> little </em>bit?” she asks at last, head tilted. “I’ve <em>studied </em> DMB, y’know, they, like, <em> let me </em>do that. I know what it does.”</p><p>A pause.</p><p>“And anyway, how can you <em> protect me </em> if you’re falling all over the place?”</p><p>Adam scowls. “I am <em> not </em> ‘falling all over the place’.”</p><p>“O-<em> kaaay, </em> ignoring that <em> obvious </em> lie, the point still stands. Are you gonna help me fight off Trappers and werewolves and <em> god </em> knows what else like this? ‘Cause I don’t think so.”</p><p>His eyes narrow, jaw clenching. “This is manipulation.”</p><p>“Yep!” Detective Lovelace grins sunnily, bouncing on her toes. “Is it working?”</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>It does not work. Adam feels that this must be emphasised in his report; he is far from feeble-minded enough that he might succumb to <em>any </em>form of manipulation, much less one so blatant or so unapologetic.</p><p>However. Eventually, he will admit, they must come to an accord.</p><p>She refuses to rest if he will not. He refuses to rest if <em> she </em>will not. And so—</p><p>And so he finds himself lying stiffly on one side of the bed, listening to the detective’s chattering teeth on the other while he tries to puzzle out <em>how </em>precisely he got here.</p><p>The electricity — as they had found upon arrival — refuses their summons, and the generator out back has remained dead to the world, despite their efforts. Still, Adam does not need even the sputtering candlelight of the past hours to trace out the crack on the ceiling with his eyes.</p><p>It bothers him. He mislikes cracks; he mislikes many things, in fact, but this in particular bothers him tonight. His breath aches in his lungs, and the room is filled with the quiet clicking of Detective Lovelace’s teeth, somehow too close to bear, and this <em> crack— </em> this crack cannot be borne.</p><p>Adam scowls. He has not been subject to the more cramped safehouses the Agency keeps for some time. Last he occupied one, the others were with him; his unit, his family.</p><p>They are alright, he believes. They must be. Any other thought is— it is unthinkable. And his team are strong; he stole off with the detective specifically <em>because </em>they looked to be handling themselves.</p><p>Still, it rubs at him; a wound as real as Detective Lovelace’s shivering, as real as the pain in Adam’s bones— as real as that crack.</p><p>“G—go to sleep, Adam,” the detective breathes, and the suddenness of her voice, low and hoarse, has him tensing.</p><p>His jaw clenches. “Not until you are resting.”</p><p>She exhales, sharp; it takes him a moment to pin down the sound as a laugh. “Yeah, ‘cause that’s— that’s gon-<em>na </em>happen. I’m gonna f—<em>freeze </em> to death first.”</p><p>The heating, as well as the electricity, is gone. Unnoticeable to him before they lay down, though it had begun to creep up upon him in stillness. Still, the cold does not hound him as it would seem it does her; the many blankets that she had insisted upon sharing ensures that. </p><p>He had quite forgotten the fragility of mortals. This oversight, now, is <em>reprehensible; </em> he had not realised things were quite so severe.</p><p>“What—” he licks his lips, mouth dry, “what can I do?”</p><p>The detective huffs again. “I’m ki—<em> ki</em>dding, Adam. Stop worrying.”</p><p>He turns his head; in spite of the darkness, he can make out the scrunch of her nose, the blue tint to her plush mouth. She is— she is closer than he’d realised. </p><p>The realisation has something sharp leaping in his chest, something he is incapable of naming.</p><p>“Your lips are blue,” he says, as if from very far away.</p><p>She stills.</p><p>“Ok-<em>ay, </em> you being able to s— to see that is <em> really crazy, </em> bee-tee-dubs.”</p><p>“Detective,” he sighs. “Tell me what to do.”</p><p>She groans. “Just— just need to get warm.”</p><p>And then she hesitates. In the dark, she seeks out his eyes, unseeing. Her teeth catch on her lower lip, lashes fluttering. “Fuck it.”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>But rather than elaborating, she shuffles closer. His heart, old and cold and <em>forever, </em> shudders.</p><p>“Detective, what are you—”</p><p>“You’re w—w—warm, you <em> asshole, </em> I can’t —  <em> fuck — </em>can’t help it.”</p><p>And she is <em>cold. </em> Adam is not in the habit of noticing things about her, of course, but she has always been a solid heat at his side, her skin ever-flushed and bright with life.</p><p>Now, her body is a black hole of coolness, and the change is so surprising, so strange, so <em>concerning, </em> that instinct has him wrapping an arm around her and drawing her closer.</p><p>Only now he can feel her heart — young and cold and <em>never </em>forever, never — thundering against his chest, skipping out of place when her brow brushes his collarbone, her squeak of surprise fanning against his neck.</p><p>June swallows. “Pretend— pretend you didn’t hear that, kay?”</p><p>His mouth is dry again. For lack of any words, he nods.</p><p>They lie like that for one-hundred-and-sixteen more heartbeats; she lodged stiffly against his torso, he trying to puzzle out the correct amount of pressure his arm might apply to her.</p><p>He scarcely dares touch her, in truth; the line of her spine is just-barely skimming his forearm, and even this seems too much. But she is cold, and he will not allow her to languish in the dark when he might offer her light.</p><p>“Better?” he croaks at last.</p><p>His voice has her pulse rocketing again. It is a sweeter sound than the clattering of her teeth, but — for reasons unknown to him — it has his own darting into an unsteady tempo.</p><p>The mad thought occurs to him that their hearts are separated only by mere inches of fabric and flesh. This is the closest he has ever been to her. </p><p>Why, then, does something in his skin itch to draw closer?</p><p>“Y— yeah,” June whispers, and the idea is pushed unceremoniously from his mind.</p><p>He nods; in doing so, he feels her hair drift over his chin, soft and dry and sweet-smelling.</p><p>By God, Adam knows pain. He knows agony, torture, even death. He has <em>nine centuries’ </em> worth of suffering to draw upon, should he need to; from trivial hurts, like stubbing a toe or grasping nettles in his hands, to terrible ones, like being ran through with a sword or unmade down to his bones, his very marrows.</p><p>He has never ached like this before.</p><p><em> I shall have to report this to Agent Lovelace, </em> he notes. <em> The Trappers have somehow made their supply of DMB yet-more potent; it deserves investigation.<br/>
</em></p><p>June shifts slightly, then stills. Hesitates. He can practically <em>hear </em>the cogs turning in that brilliant mind of hers; he wonders, if he pulled away, if he might catch the furrowed brows and pursed lips of her thinking expression. </p><p>He has witnessed it so many times by now that he could draw it blind; he could seek out her face in a sea of others by touch alone, searching for that line between her eyebrows with fingers and thumbs. </p><p>This is what it means to be a good leader, he has learned. To know one’s people inside and out. To know them perhaps better than one’s self.</p><p>“For fuck’s sake, this is super uncomfortable,” she grumbles at last, and then—</p><p>And then! She is burrowing closer, her knees knocking into his — which draws a low hiss from her, and a rough curse — and her cold nose finding his neck, right beneath his pulse point, until she lies heavy and secure and <em>loose </em>against him.</p><p>“Okay?” June breathes after a moment.</p><p>Adam swallows around the organ in his throat. His lungs hurt, breathing impossible with the sudden absence of so vital an instrument in his chest. And his hand; some ancient knowledge, predating himself, guides it to the small of her back, hidden three-layers deep, slowly warming beneath his touch.</p><p>“Yes,” he gasps, meaning <em> let me go, this is terrifying, </em> and <em> never leave me again </em> all at once.</p><p>Someone’s heart is pounding.</p><p>(Whether it is beneath his breast or not makes no matter. Either way, it is hers.)</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>as always catch me on <a href="http://solasan.tumblr.com/">tumblr</a> pce x</p></blockquote></div></div>
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